A room of my own.

Virginia Woolf is famous for saying that a woman needs money and a room of her own if she’s going to write fiction. This week, I finally have a room of my own again.

It’s been almost a whole year since I packed my office up.

My son was no longer a newborn and needed to move out of our room and into his own space. So I packed up my writing books, my notes, 80,000 drafts of my novel, my office supplies, my Gandalf and Obi Wan Kenobi action figures and everything else I’ve managed to accumulate over the last 15 years of my career and moved my desk to a corner of our bedroom.

Then we moved, and I had my own room again, but since we moved during the holidays, all the boxes we didn’t want people to see got hidden in my office. Then my son’s playpen got moved in. And while it was a room, and mine, it was filled with crap, and I could find nothing in it.

Oh, you need to use the printer? YOU SHALL NOT PASS.

Oh, you need to use the printer?
YOU SHALL NOT PASS.

After a few months of working in this disaster, I took some time this week to find all the boxes that contained my office. I still don’t know where about 20 percent of my things are, but I found and unpacked most of them. (Including Gandalf. I losy Obi-Wan, but I like to think there’s a little blue action-figure Force ghost floating around in here.)

My office is back. I can find my notes. I can find my stapler and the extra ink for the printer. And most importantly, I have a room of my own again. It’s not perfect. The walls in here still need to be plastered and painted, which means I will have to move everything again. (I refuse to think of that right now.)

Now I just need some money.

My spirit animal is the Woolf.

I recently read A Room of One’s Own and To The Lighthouse one after the other. After that, I felt like Virginia Woolf was sitting on my shoulder, keeping up a running commentary about everything I did. Which is a little annoying because when I’m counting calories I hear a little voice in my head saying:

“One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.”

Easy for you to say, Virginia. You were a rail.

Anyhow, this made me think “Wow, she’s like my spirit animal,” and then I remembered her name is “Woolf” and I felt like she really was my spirit animal. Then I thought about people who truly believe that wolves are their spirit animals, and that reminded me of those tee shirts you see at craft fairs with a wolf howling at the moon and the aurora borealis shimmering in the background.

And then I thought, “Dammit. Where’s my spirit animal tee shirt?”

And I looked, but there weren’t any. So I made one.

Woolf Spirit Animal

The only thing I regret is that I didn’t Photoshop her head back to look like she’s howling. If I want to get really ’80s, I might order this on a sweatshirt and decorate it with puff paint, glitter and rhinestones.